I can't make you love me
by stagepageandscreen
Summary: I know it can never be, that you do not love me at all, but with your still, elegant form asleep beside me, I like to imagine that we are of an equal standing. Not a slave girl and a prince, but that you love me as fiercely as I love you, that I am not just a vessel to use to sate your passions. Rated for mild suggestive themes and a mention of violence.


**I can't make you love me…**

You collapse against my sweat-sheened back with a hot desperate groan, every muscle, every tendon snapped tight in the instinctive moment of your release. The growls of your desire push me into my own heady rush of pleasure; my helpless mewls are muted in the down-stuffed pillows of your bed.

You pull away before I am fully sated – not that you care – and with a careless twist of your fingers the restraints that bind me to the headboard dissolve into gleaming streaks of light as you call the bonds back into the ether.

Your chest still heaving you stretch out on top of the rumpled coverlets, no words of affection or kindness for me falling from your passion swollen lips…but I did not expect any. Not once in all the nights that you, the second prince of Asgard, have taken me into your bed have you ever spoken such endearments to me.

Unsure as to your mood this evening, I make to depart, wincing as my sore thighs make contact with the embroidery of the bedspread.

"Where do you think you're going?" You have not even opened your eyes, those stunning eyes that make me catch my breath whenever I behold them, but the absolute command in your tone has me wriggling back to my place.

"I was unsure if you wished for my presence this night, my lord," I say quietly.

"I may be interested in a repeat performance," you mumble, the black tendrils of your hair strewn across your forehead and onto the pillow.

How my fingers itch to stroke them into order. But I know you revile such familiarity, despite the fact that you know every intimate secret of my body.

"Stay," you say, the slight slur of the word foreshadowing how close you are to sleep.

I am glad to comply, inching as close as I dare while you are still semi-conscious, content to watch the low firelight play over your pale skin and caress the smooth planes of your muscles.

As your breathing evens out and you are lost to your slumber my eyes fill with tears. Freed from the constraints of decorum I observe your beauty, unabashed. Only in fleeting moments like this do I wish you would love me the way I love you. I know it can never be, that you do not love me at all, but with your still, elegant form asleep beside me, I like to imagine that we are of an equal standing. Not a slave girl and a prince, but that you love me as fiercely as I love you, that I am not just a vessel to use to sate your passions.

I lay here a long time, fighting off my own slumber for the pleasure of watching you. I know when tomorrow comes, the first golden beams of dawn creeping between the loosely closed curtains, I must leave.

I must return to my proper station and my real life. To the sly glances and jibes of the other slaves, to the back-breaking work that fills my hours, to seeing your impersonal gaze slide across me as you pass in the company of your brother and his friends…to feeling so utterly alone.

You shift in your sleep, nonsense words floating from your mouth on a breath. I pause in my thoughts, wondering whether tonight would be filled with your fathomless whimpers of terror, caused by your fear of shadows I cannot banish.

There have been several nights when, ordered to remain in your company, I have wound up brushing my trembling fingers through your hair and cradling you to my chest in a vain attempt to soothe you. Once you woke during these ministrations, your response being to repel me from you and backhand me across the face, shaking with rage and echoes of fear. I slept on the floor that night, the salt of my tears soothing the warm mark left by your hand.

On this night, however, you do not lose yourself to your fears and your breathing relaxes once more. Resigned to sleep, I keep as far away from you as I can, knowing you hate to have your space infringed upon.

The warm clasp of your fingers around my wrist surprises me and I turn back, expecting you to have only reached out in your sleep.

Your green eyes stare back at me, filled with a softness I had never seen before. We stare in silence at one another, my submissive nature for once retreating as I hold your gaze. Equals.

I may have imagined it, but at my pathetic display of bravery your mouth quirks in a shadow of a smile, instantly replaced with the mask of haughty boredom I am so accustomed to.

"If you don't desist from wriggling around, I shall be forced to restrain you again," you say. Then you tug on my arm to pull me closer.

I cannot hide my surprise, but comply. I will not complain at the prospect of getting to actually sleep in your arms tonight.

The coolness of your skin surprises me, as it always does, but the comforting weight of your arm draped over my middle makes up for the slight chill. In a few languid movements you have pulled the bedclothes up over us both and have settled your head back into the pillow, your nose nuzzling ever so slightly into my hair.

I know you do not love me, and that you never will, but I will take this tiny piece of perfection you have unknowingly handed to me. With a small sigh of utter contentment, I allow myself to sink into the oblivion of sleep, my fingers just touching yours.


End file.
